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Lines and Rhymes. 



GEAYE A^D GAY, 



BY 

JAMES CLARENCE HARVEY 



SELECTED AND PUBLISHED BECAUSE OF THEIR 
ADAPTABILITY FOR PUBLIC RECITA- 
TION AND READING. 




FRANK F. LOVELL & COMPANY 

142 AND 144 Worth Street 



■., \ 






Copyright, 1889, by John W. Lovell. 



gijxXicatioix. 



TO MY MOTHER. 

/. C. H. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



A Roman Legend, 

The Whistling Regiment, 

At the Stage Door, 

Why ? . . . 

A Legend of tlie Ivy, 

Society's Centennial, 

Two Roses, 

The Waxen Enst, . 

The Bicycle Ride, . 

My Study ("hair, . 

I Wondei", 

The Nameless Guest, 

A Challenge, . 

Imperfectus, . 

Priority, . 

The Pii.es of Pan, . 

When the Darkness Falls, 

At Sunrise, 

Let Silence Fall, 



PAGE 
1) 

11 

20 



2!) 
01 
34 
87 

ai) 

40 
42 
43 
44 
45 
47 
48 
49 



G TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A Choice, 50 

The Ring, 51 

An Old Skull, 53 

A Christinas Story, 53 

Spring Song 59 

The Rabbi and the Prince, CO 

The Green-Rooni Glass, G2 

A Sea Song, 04 

The Quiet Hour, 65 

In No Man's Land, G7 

September Revery, G8 

The Last Gladiatorial Combat, .... 70 

A Dream of Summer, 73 

On the Way 73 

Miserrimus, 74 

Passing Clouds, 75 

The Tiger and the Twin, 76 

In London Tower, 85 



LINES AND RHYMES. 



A ROMAN LEGEND. 

HouK by liour, with skilful pencil, wrought the 

artist, Slid and lone, 
Day by day, he labored nobly, though to all the 

world unknown, 
He was brave, the youthful artist, but his soul 

grew weak and faint. 
As he strove to place before him, the fair features 

of a saint. 
Worn and weary, he strove vainly, for the touch 

of Heavenly grace. 
Till, one day, a radiant sunbeam fell upon the u])- 

turned face. 
And the very air was flooded with a presence 

strangely sweet, 
For the soul, within the sunbeam, seemed to make 

the work complete. 
Swift as thought, the artist's pencil deftly touched 

the features fair. 
Night came down, but one bright sunbeam left its 

soul imprisoned there ; 



10 LINES AND RHYMES. 

And around liis dingy garret, gazed the artist, 

wondering, 
For the work sublime illumed it, like the palace 

of a king; 
And within the artist nature, flamed his first, fond 

love divine. 
Which bewildered all his senses, as with rare, old, 

ruby wine. 
Yearningly, he cried : " I love thee," to the radiant, 

saintly face. 
But the never-ceasing answer was a look of Heav- 
enly grace. 
Out into the world he wandered, questioning, 

searching everywhere. 
And the stars above, full often, heard his soul burst 

forth in prayer: 
" God in Heaven, in mercy, hear me ! Hear thy 

suppliant's pleading cry. 
Lead, oh! lead my footsteps to her. Grant but 

this, or let me die.'* 
Friends forsook and want pursued him, still he 

struggled on, alone. 
Till, at last, outworji and trembling, reason tot- 
tered on its throne. 
And lie seemed the helpless plaything of some 

mad, relentless fate, 
Till the Sisterhood of Mercy found him lying at 

their gate; 
Made him welcome, gave him shelter and with 

ever-patient care 
Bathed his brow and brushed the tangled, matted 

tresses of his hair. 



A ROMAN LEGEND. 11 

Long he lingered on the borders of the holy-laud 

of death. 
One fair Sister, by his bedside, counting low each 

fluttering breath. 
Softly fell the evening shadows, shuttiug out the 

golden glow. 
Of a gorgeous, lingering sunset, gilding all the 

earth below, 
When, upon his pillow turning, swift came to him 

hope's bright gleams. 
For the anxious face, above him, Avas the loved 

one of his dreams. 
But her life was one of mercy and the band across 

her brow. 
Gave the spotless testimony of a maiden's holy 

vow. 
" Is this Heaven? Are you an angel ? " swift 

he questioned her, the while. 
She smoothed back his wavy tresses, only answer- 
ing with a smile; 
" Tell me truly, couldst thou love me, since thou 

wouldst not let me die ? '' 
But she pointed to the band about her brow and 

breathed a sigh. 
In her hours of patient watching, she had learned 

the bitter truth, 
That the Sisterhood of Mercy has its anguish and 

its ruth ; 
Nevermore she came, well-knowing, from tempta- 
tion she must fly. 
For his eager, tender questions, in her heart, had 

found reply. 



12 LINES AND RHYMES. 

Every moriiiiig, lie would question : " Will she come 

to me to-day ? " 
And the tender, truthful Sisters shook their heads 

and turned away, 
For adown his chissic features passed the shadow 

of his pain. 
As he closed his eyes and murmured : " She will 

never come again." 
In his dreams, one night, he fancied she had hent 

above his bed. 
And his longing arms reached npward, but the 

vision sweet had fled. 
Hopeless, in his great heart-hunger, through a 

storm of wind and rain, 
To his picture turned the artist, bowing low, with 

grief and pain ; 
Open wide, he threw the shutters of his garret 

casement high, 
PIceding not the vivid lightning, as it flashed 

atliAvart the sky. 
On his lowly couch reclining, soon in weariness, 

he slept. 
While the storm clouds o'er him thundering, long 

and loud their vigils kept. 
Wilder grew the night and fiercer blcAV the winds, 

until, at last. 
Like a bird of prey or demon, througli the shat- 

teretl casement, passed 
The old shutter, reiuling, tearing every wondrous 

touch and trace 
Of the artist's patient labor, from the radiant, 

saintly face ; 



A ROMAN LEGENT). 13 

And the jurfgetl bauds of liolitning, as they flashed 
along the floor, 

Lit the crushed and crumpled canvas, worthless 
now, forevermore. 

And the artist, slowly rising, groped his way across 
the room. 

Feeling, knowing he had lost her, thoiTgh en- 
shrouded in the gloom. 

Then he sought his couch and niuruiured : " It is 
well, God knoweth best.'' 

And the sunbeams of the morning fouml a weary 
soul — at rest. 



14 LINES AND RHYMES. 



THE WHISTLmG EEGIMENT. 

[In the recitation which follows, the effect can be heightened by 
an accompaniment on the piano and by the whistling of strains from 
Annie Lam-ie, adapting the style to the sentiment of the verses. 

The melody should be plaj-ed very softly, except where the battle 
is allnded to, and the whistling should be so timed that the last strain 
of Annie Laurie may end with the words, " woidd lay me down and 
die." The beat of the drums can be introduced with good effect, 
but it is better to omit it unless it can be done skilfully. It is well to 
state before reciting, that the escape described is not entirely imagi- 
nai-y, as many prisoners made their way through underground 
passages from rebel prisons, during the Civil War. An asterisk at 
the end of a line denotes where the whistling should commence, 
and a dagger where it should cease.] 

AVhen tlie ISTortli and Soiitli had parted, and tlie 

boom of the signal g\u\ 
Had wakened the Northern heroes, for the great 

deeds to be done, 
When the nation's cry for sohliers had echoed o'er 

hill and dale, 
When hot youth flushed with courage, while the 

mother's cheeks turned pale, 
In the woods of old New England, as the day sank 

down the west, 
A loved one stood beside me, her brown head on 

my breast. 
From the earliest hours of childhood our jjaths 

had been as one, 
Her heart was in my keeping, though I knew not 

Avhen 'twas won; 



THE WHISTLING REGIMENT. lo 

AVe had learned to love each other, in a lialf un- 
spoken way, 
But it ripened to full completeness when the 

parting came, that day; 
Xot a tear in the eyes of azure, hut a deep and 

fervent prayer, 
That seemed to say : " God hless you, and guard 

you, everywhere." 
At the call for volunteers, her face was like drifted 

snow. 
She read in my eyes a question and her loyal Jieart 

said, " Go," 
As the roll of the drums drew nearer, through the 

leaves of the rustling trees,* 
The strains of Annie Laurie were home to us, on 

the hreeze. 
Then I drew her pale face nearer and said : " Brave 

heart and true. 
Your tender love and prayers shall hring me back 

to you." 
And I called her luij Annie Laurie ana whispered 

to her that I 
For her sweet sake was willing — to lay me down 

and die 
And I said : '' Through the days of danger, that 

little song shall be 
Like a pass word from tliis hillside, to 1)ring your 

love to me."' f 
Oh! many a time, at lughtfall, in the very shades 

of death. 
When the picket lines were j^acing their rounds 

with bated breath,'^^ 



16 LINES AND IIHYMES. 

The lips of strong men trembled and brave breasts 

heaved a sigh, 
When some one whistled softly; " I'd lay me down 

and die." f 
The tender little ballad onr watch-word soon be- 
came 
And in place of Annie Lanrie, each had a loved 

one's name. 
In the very front of battle, where the bullets thi.'.k- 

est fly,* 
The boys from old New England oft-times went 

rushing by. 
And the rebel lines before ns gave way where'er 

we went. 
For the gray coats fled, in terror, from the " whis- 
tling regiment." 
Amidst the roar of the cannon, and the shriek of 

the shells on high, 
You could hear the brave boys whistling: "I'd 

lay me down and die." f 
But, Alas! Though truth is mighty and right will, 

at last, prevail. 
There are times when the best and bravest, by the 

wrong outnumbered, fail; 
And thus, one day, in a skirmish, but a half-hour's 

fight at most, 
A score of the whistling soldiers were caught by 

the rebel host. 
With htinds tied fast behind us, we were dragged 

to a prison pen, 
W^here, hollow-eyed and starving, lay a thousand 

loyal men. 



THE WHISTLING REGIMENT. 17 

No roof but the vault of Heaven, no bed save the 

beaten sod, 
►Shut in from the worhl around us, by a wall where 

the sentries trod, 
For a time, our Annie Laurie brought eheer to 

that prison pen; 
A hope to the hearts of the living; a smile to the 

dying men. 
But the spark of Hope burned dimly, when each 

day's setting sun 
Dropped the pall of night o'er a comrade, whose 

sands of life were run. 
One night, in a dismal corner, where the shadows 

darkest fell. 
We huddled close together, to hear a soldier 

tell 
The tales of dear New England and of loved ones 

waiting there, 
AVlien, Hark! a soft, low whistle, pierced through 

the heavy air,* 
And the strain was Annie Laurie. Each caught 

the other's eye. 
And with trembling lips we answered : " L'd lay 

me down and die." 
From the earth, near the wall behind us, a hand 

came struggling through. 
With a crumpled bit of jiaper for the ca|)tive boys 

in blue. 
And the name ! My God ! 'Twas Annie, my Annie, 

true and brave, 
From the hills of old New England she had fol- 
lowed me to save.f 



18 LINES AND RHYMES. 

" Not a word or ii sign^, but follow, Avliere'er you 

m:iy be led, 
Bring four of your comnides with you,"' wtis all 

that the writing said. 
Only eight were left of the twenty and lots were 

quiekly thrown, 
Then our trembling fingers widened the space 

where the hand had shown. 
AVith a stealthy glance at the sentries, the prisoners 

gathered round, 
And the five whom fate had chosen stole silent 

underground. 
On, on, through the damp earth creeping, we fol- 
lowed our dusky guide. 
Till under a bank o'erhanging, we came to the 

riverside : 
"Straight over," a low voice whispered, "where 

you see yon beacon light.'' 
And ere we could say : " God bless you," he van- 
ished into the night. 
Through the fog and damp of the river, when the 

moon was hid from sight. 
With a fond, old, faithful negro, brave Annie had 

crossed each night; 
And the long, dark, narrow passage had grown till 

we heard close by 
The notes of the dear old pass-word : " I'd lay me 

down and die." 
AVith oar-locks muffled and silent, we pushed out 

into the stream, 
AVhen a shot rang out on the stillness. AVe could 

see by the musket gleam. 



THE WHISTLING llEGUIENT. 19 

A single sentry fii'ing, l)nt the b;ills passed harm- 
less bVj 
For the stars had hid their faces and clouds swept 

o'er the sky. 
God! How that beacon burning, brought joy 

to my heart, that night,* 
For I knew whose hand had kindled that fire to 

guide our flight. 
The new-born hope of freedom filled every arm 

with strength, 
And we pulled at the oars like giants till the shore 

was reached at length. 
AYe sprang from the skiff, half fainting, once 

more in the land of the free. 
And the lips of my love were waiting to welcome 

and comfort me. 
In my wasted arms I held her, while the weary 

boys close by 
Breathed low, " For Annie Laurie, I'd lay nie 

down and die." f 



20 LINES AND RHYMES, 



AT THE STAGE DOOR. 

The curtain h:ui fallen, the lights were dim. 

The rain canie down with a steady pour; 
A white-haired man, with a kindly face. 

Peered through the j)anes of the old stage door. 
" I'm getting too old to be drenched like that," 

He muttered and turning, met face to face, 
The woman whose genius, an hour before. 

Like a mighty power, had filled the place. 

" Yes, much too old," with a smile, she said. 

And she laid her hand on his silver h:iir; 
" You shall ride with me to your home to-night. 

For that is my carriage standing there." 
The old door-tender stood, doffing his hat 

And holding the door, but she would not stir, 
Though he said it was not for the " likes of him 

To ride in a kerridge with such as her." 

" Come, put out your lights," she said to him, 

" I've something important I wish to say. 
And I can't stand here in the draught you know — 

I can tell you much better while on the way." 
So into the carriage the old man crept. 

Thanking her gratefully, o'er and o'er, 
Till she bade bin listen while she would tell 

A story, concerning that old stage door. 



AT THE STAGE BOOR. 21 

" It was raining in torrents, ten years ago 

This very night, and a friendless chihl 
Stood, shivering there, by that old stage door. 

Dreading her walk, in a night so wild. 
She was only one of the ' extra ^ gii'ls, 

Bnt yon gave her a nickel to t.ike the car, 
And said ' Heaven bless, ye, my little one. 

Ye can pay me b::ck ef ye ever star.' 

"So you cast your bread on the w;:tcrs then, 

And I pay you back, as my heart demands. 
And we're even now — no ! not quite," she said. 

As she emptied her purse in his trembling hands. 
"And if ever you're needy and want a friend, 

You know where to come, for your little mite 
Put hope in my heart and made me strive 

To gain the success you have seen to-night." 

Then the carriage stopped, at the old man's door, 

And the gas-light shone on him, standing there; 
And he stepped to the cnrb, as she rolled away. 

While his thin lips murmured a fervent prayer, 
lie looked at the silver and bills and gold. 

And he said : " She gives all this to me ? 
My bread has come back a thousandfold, 

God bless her! God bless all such as she! " 



22 LINES AND RHYMES. 



WHY. 

Why do I love thee ? Ask the flower, 

That nods by the woodhmd stream, 
AVhy it loves the light of the morning sun 

And kisses each golden beam; 
Ask of the blushing clover bloom. 

In the light of the dawning day, 
Why it presses the dew-drop close to its breast 

And droops when it steals away. 

Ask why the moonbeams kiss the sea, 

Why the lily loves the rain, 
Why the morning glory bares its breast, 

AVhen the sunshine comes again. 
Ask why the song bird loves its mate. 

Why the daisies love the lea; 
And learn from them, they'll tell thee true. 

Why thou art dear to me. 



A LEGEND OF THE IVY. 23 



A LEGEND OF THE IVY. 

Ix a quiet village of Germany, once dwelt a fair- 
haired maiden. 

Whose eyes were as blue as the summer sky and 
whose hair with gold was laden ; 

Her lips were as red as a rose-bud sweet, with 
teeth, like pearls, behind them, 

Her smiles were like dreams of bliss, complete, 
and her waving curls enshrined them. 

Fond lovers thronged to the maiden's side, but of 
all the youth around her, 

One only had asked her to be his bride, and a 
willing listener found her. 

" Some time, we'll marry, " she often said, then 
burst into song or laughter. 

And tripped away, while the lover's head hung low 
as he followed after. 

Impatient growing, at last he said : " The spring- 
time birds are mating. 

Pray whisper, sweet, our day to wed; warm hearts 
grow cold from waiting," 

"Not yet," she smiled, with a fond caress; but he 
answered, " Now or never. 

I start for the Holy War unless I may call thee 
mine forever." 



24 LINES AND RHYMES. 

" For the Holy War ? Farewell ! " she cried, with 

never a thought of grieving. 
His wish so often had been denied, she could not 

help believing 
His heart would wait, till her budding life had 

blown to its full completeness. 
She did not know that a wedded wife holds a 

spell in her youthful sweetness. 
But alas! for the "Yes" too long delayed, he 

fought and he bravely perished ; 
And alas! for the heart of the tender maid, and 

the love it fondly cherished ; 
Her smile grew sad for all hope was gone; life's 

sands were swiftly fleeting, 
And just at the break of a wintry dawn, her broken 

heart ceased beating; 
And when, on her grave, at the early sjiring, 

bright flowers her friends were throwing, 
They knelt and there, just blossoming, they saw a 

strange plant growing, 
Its tender fingers, at first, just seen, crept on 

through the grass and clover, 
Till, at last, with a mound of perfect green, it 

covered the whole grave over. 
And often the village youth would stand by the 

vine-clad mound, in the gloaming. 
And holding a maiden's willing hand, would tell 

that the strange plant roaming. 
Was the maiden's soul, which could not rest and 

with fruitless, fond endeavor. 
Went seeking the heart it loved the best, but 

sought in vain, forever. 



SOClETY'tS CENTENNIAL. 25 



SOCIETY'S CENTENNIAL. 

Madame Van Guystp:!! was rosy und plump. 

Rosy and pretty was she. 
Mr. Van Guyster was portly ;.nd red, 

Portly and gruff was he. 
" Beautiful match," all the people had said 
When pretty and portly, the two were wed, 
Yet a cat and dog life was the life they led. 

Ah me! 

Madame loved dearly society calls, 

Charity fairs and all that; 
Danced with delight at Inaugural Balls, 

Raved o'er a new Easter hat. 
And didn't mind flirting a bit now and then. 
At just the right time with the right kind of men. 
But Van Guyster said: "Wait till she does it 
again, 

WVllsee!" 

April came 'round with its showers and its sun; 

Madame went driving one day. 
Her only companion a French marquis. 

Known to be rapid and gay. 
So Mr. Van Guyster concluded to dine 
Down at the club and get flushed with wine; 
Tluit he w; s upset, 'twas a very sure sign. 

Though rare. 



26 LINE^ AND RHYMES. 

" Mrs. Van G oyster! " he said, with a frown, 

'' Flirt if yon nmst and yon will. 
Here is a letter whicii says that yon dance. 

Dance in the famous qnadrille. 
Here are the tickets and here is the way, 
Yonr little coquetries I shall repay. 
You shall stay home on that auspicious day, 

I SAvear ! " 

Slightly unsteady, he strode to the grate; 

Flourished the cards in the air; 
Calling attention to what he was at. 

Then he proceeded to tear. 
He tore up the tickets in wee little bits. 
He turned and he gave her particular fits, 
Mrs. Van Guyster scared out of her wits. 

Stood dumb. 

Never before had connubial bliss 

Taken this tragical turn ; 
What had occasioned an outburst like this, 

She was nnable to learn. 
Quickly she rallied and sweetly she said: 
" Mr. A'^an Guyster, you're out of your liead. 
I shall go to the ball, sir, unless I am dead, 

Now come ! " 

Scarcely believing he meant what he said. 

Think of the lady's surprise. 
Early next morning, to see all her trunks 

Carted oif, nnder her eyes; 



SOCIETY'S CENTENNIAL. 27 

Costumes sent flying, right under her nose, 
Even her boots and her dainty silk hose, 
She was nigh crazy, as you may suppose, 

Poor thini;:! 



Mr. Van Guyster, at last, went away, 

Turning the key in tlie door. 
Mrs. Van Guyster then had a good cry. 

Curled in a heap on the floor, 
" This is my punishment," softly she cried, 
" These are the tears that all women betide. 
Who insist on becoming some wealthy man's bride. 

Oh! The sting!" 

All of a sudden she sprang to her feet, 

Fire flashing bright in her eye. 
Pearly white teeth were set tight as she said : 

" ril go to that ball if I die^ " 
Up through the air shaft she summoned her maid. 
Pulled down the hangings of satin brocade. 
Over them, dainty lace curtains were laid. 

So neat! 

Scissors and needles and silks were at hand. 
Oh ! Ili^w they worked on that dress. 

Slashing and cutting up hangings that cost 
Half a small fortune, I guess. 

Over her shoulders the garment was flung, 

To her anatomy softly it clung, 

Gracefully! Well! I can't tell with my tongue. 

How sweet! 



28 LINBS AND RHYMES. 

Then on a ladder, out into the yard 

Mrs. Van Guyster went down, 
])ainty, pink ankles exposing, of course. 

They Avere the talk of the town. 
Into a carriage she sprang with a dash, 
*' Drive to the shoe store of Mr. De Cash ! " 
Mr. Van Guyster threw open the sash, 

And swore, 

Swore by George Washington, Martha as well. 

Swore by the j^oiut of his knife, 
Swore by the sacred four hundred that he 

Would frustrate the plan of his wife. 
Hastily dressing, he flew to the ba-11. 
Stood like a statue, up close to the wall. 
Stately and ;:rini and bald-headed and tall. 

By the door. 

Distant, sweet music at last, from within. 

Smote on his listening ear, 
The famous cotillion was on then and she, — 

She was outwitted, 'twas clear. 
He chuckled and opened a bottle in glee, 
AVent in to the ball, when Lo ! who should he see ! 
His wife on the arm of the French marquis. 

Great Scott I 

Mr. Van Guyster, with jealousy wild. 
Sprang at his throat with a scream; 
All was confusion and then — he awoke. 

Out of a troublesome dream. 
Mr. Van Guyster had dined as I said, 
Mrs. Van Guyster was rubbing his head, 
Since then a much pleasanter life they have led, 

Why not! 



TWO JiOSES. 29 



TWO ROSES. 

Beneath thy open window, sweet, 

I stood, last night. The stars, on high. 
Peeped through the rift clouds, sailing hy. 
To light my wandering, love-led feet 

Along the path where roses white 
Gave to the breezes of the night 
A kiss of fragrance, soft and light, 
With which thy sleeping smile to greet. 
And as thy curtains softly swayed. 
With fervent lips, sweet love, I prayed. 
The warm night wind would breathe to thee 
How Heavenly dear thou art to me. 

I plucked two roses, blooming there, 
One, purest white, one, deepest red. 
Thy love and mine, interpreted, 
And flung them, through the odorous air. 

Naught thinking, caring naught but this, 
One bore to thee a lover's kiss 
To tinge, perchance, a dream of bliss 
And nestle in thy golden hair; 

The rich, red rose, thy heart would keep; 
It told of passion strong and deep. 
And well I knew thy lips would find 
The kiss within, though love be blind. 



30 LINES AND RHYMES. 

Ami wliile I lingered, lovingly. 

Content with thoughts that thou wert near 
E'en though thy voice I could not hear, 
A sweet surprise flew forth from thee. 

The pure, white rose that I had thrown. 
Against my breast was gently blown. 
And bore a kiss from thee, my own. 
To gladden and enrapture me. 

Swift lips, against the jietals fair, 
Pressed close the kiss, imprisoned tliere, 
And down the path, the roses white. 
Heard wliispered low : "' My love, Good-night. 



THE WAA\EN BUST. oi 



THE WAXEN RUST. 

Mr. Lensly de Jones was a timid man, 
Who stammered whenever he talked, 

It affected his gait, for he hippity-hopped 
AVhere otlier people walked. 

Now Lensly de Jones was a wonderful man. 

In the photographic art. 
He wasn't the chief in the Grand Salon, 

But he played a prominent part. 

And the day that the Crrand Mogul was ill 

With a touch of the gout, they say, 
Victoria Regina was out for a drive 

And happened to pass that way. 

" What ho ! " quoth the Queen, '" I'm in face to-day 

V faith! I am looking well, 
Many years I shall reign and a photograph, . 

To my subjects, this fact shall tell." 

So into the hall of the Grand Salon, 

Swept the Queen with her retinue. 
And Lensly de Jones was so terrified 

That he didn't know what to do. 



32 LINES AND RHYMES. 

He stammered : " G-G-Good-day " and stuttered ; 
" p-pray s-sit," 

And stumbled all over the room, 
And he jumped wlien Her Majesty spoke to him 

As though 'twas the crack-o-doom. 

There wasn't a man in the British Isles 

As skilful as he, I ween. 
In preparing a first-class photograph 

For any one but his Queen. 

But he couldn't say " Lift up your chin " to her, 

He couldn't command her smiles, 
He couldn't put prongs in the back of the hea 

Of the Queen of the British Isles. 

She was out of focus, the light w;is bad. 

And her head was moving too; 
And Lensly de Jones felt a 2)osifive dread 

Lest the negative might not do. 

But he trundled the camera to and fro. 

And then he exposed the plate, 
And promised the proofs as the Queen rode off. 

Leaving Lensly stammering: " W-w:iit." 

Instead of the sensitive plates they used, 
What think you the man had done! 

Put in a tin sign which the legend bt)re: 
"At dinner. Be back at one." 

All day and all night, with a pan of wax. 

Poor Lensly might have been seen. 
With deep solicitude, modelling 

A bust of the gracious Queen. 



TIfE VrA.VIhY BUST. 

And when it avus dune it was })li()tog-n;plied 
And the proofs mucli ])k'asc'd tlio (^lu-en, 

For Lensly had flattered lier dread fully, 
With a faee sedate, serene. 

The Ilonse of Lords with a single voice 

Made Lensly a belted knight. 
They sent him tlie news one afternoon 

And the poor man dit-d of fright. 

Thus endeth the tale of the photogra])h 

Of England's gracions Queen, 
And the waxen bust of the belted knight, 

With the face sedate, serene. 



34 LINES AND RHYMES. 



THE BICYCLE RIDE. 

[Whether bicycle riding oq Siiuday be sinful or not, depends en- 
tirely upon the spirit in which it is done and the associations of the 
ride.— Editor's Outing.] 

You have read of the ride of Paul Revere, 

And of Gilpin's ride, so fraught with fear; 

Skipper Ireson's ride in a cart, 

And the ride where Sheridan played a part; 

Calendar's ride on a brazen hack. 

And Islam's prophet on Al Borak; 

The fateful ride to Aix from Ghent, 

And a dozen others of like portent, 

But you never have heard of a bicycle spin 

Which was piously ended, though started in sin. 

Tom was a country parson's son. 
Fresh from college and full of fun. 
Fond of flirting with bright-eyed girls. 
Raving, in verse, over golden curls. 
Sowing a wild oat, here and there. 
In a way that made the parson stare 
And chide him sternly, when face to face, 
While, in private, he laughed at the young scape- 
grace. 
But the wildest passion the boy could feel 
AVas the love he bore for his shininsf wheel. 



THE BICYCLE RIDE. 35 

lie rode it by night and lie rode it by day. 
If he went two rods or ten miles away; 
And Deacon Smith was heard to remark 
That he met tluit " pesky thing in the dark 
And it went right by with a glint and a gleam 
And a wild ' hoot-toot ' that made him scream ; 
In spite of the fact that he knew right well 
That evil sjDirits were all in — well — 
He wouldn't meet that thing again 
For a corn-crib full of good, ripe grain." 

One Sunday morning, the sun was bright. 
The birds' throats bursting with glad delight, 
The parson mounted his plump old bay 
And jogged to the church, two miles away, 
While Tom wdieeled round, ten miles or more 
And hid his wheel by the chancel door. 
And he thought, as he sat in the 2)a.rson's pew, 
" I Avonder what makes dad look so blue," 
Till it came like a flash to his active mind. 
He'd left his sermon and S2)ecs behind. 

Now the parson was old and his eyes were dim 

And he couldn't have read a line or a hymn, 

Without his specs, for a mint of gold. 

And his head turned hot wdiile his toes turned cold, 

And right in the midst of his mental shock. 

The parson deceived his trusting flock, 

And gave them eternal life and a crown 

From the book he was holding upside doAvn, 

Tom, the rascal, five minutes before. 

Like an arrow had shot from the chancel door. 



86 LINES AND KHY31B8. 

The horses he frightened I never c;in tell, 
Nor how the old church folks were shocked, as well, 
And they said they feared that the parson's lad 
" Vv^as a-gettin' wild " and would go to the bad. 
For 'twas wicked enough to set folks in a craze 
Without "ridin' sech races on Sabbath days," 
And they thought the length of the parson's iirayer 
Had something to do with his fatherly care. 
While the truth of it was, which he afterwards 

dropped, 
He didn't know what he could do when ho stopped. 

Of course you know how the story will end. 

The prayer was finished and duly "Amen'd," 

Whem Tom, all dust, to the pulpit flew 

And laid down the specs and the sermon too. 

Then the parson preached in a timid way, 

Of sinful pleasure on Sabbath-day 

And he added a postscript, not in the text, 

Saying that, when they were sore perplexed. 

Each must decide as he chanced to feel. 

And Tom chuckled : " Sundays, I'll ride my wheel." 



MY 8TUDY CHAIR. 3/ 



MY STUDY CIIAIE. 

If tlie quaint old chair which has stood by my desk, 

For nearly a score of years, 
Could tell all my musings, botli s:id and gay. 

My longings and hopes and fears, 
What a tale it would tell of my youthful dreams. 

And the later years of strife ! 
What sombre threads it would reveal. 

In the tangled maze of life ! 

When the wild wind howls at my window pane. 

And the midnight fire burns low, 
New-born desires and dying hopes, 

Like spectres, come and go. 
I beckon the fairies down from smoke 

Or back from a goblin start, 
Then nestle buck in the dear old chair, 
. And it soothes my restless heart. 

Like a living thing it seems to me, 

W^hen the toil of the day is done, 
And it stands like a mother with loving arms. 

Outstretched toward a wayward son; 
It knows how often my hidden cares 

Have found relief in tears; 
It knows how the castles totter and fall 

Which a proud ambition rears. 



S8 LINES AND EHYMB8. 

It has found its way to my inmost heart, 

And wherever my footsteps tend, 
I seem to long for its broad old arms 

As one would long for a friend. 
So I hope, at last, when the Angel of Deatli 

Shall come from the Eealms of Light, 
That my dear old chair will hold me close 

Till my spirit has taken its flight. 



1 WONDER. 39 



I WONDER! 

I WONDER if, under the grass-grown sod, 
The weary human heart finds rest! 

If the soul, with its woes, when it flies to God, 
Leaves all its pain, in the earth's cold breast ! 

Or whether we feel, as we do to day. 

That joy holds sorrow in hand, alway. 

I wonder if, after the kiss of death. 

The love that was sweet, in days of yore. 

Departs with the last, faint, fleeting breath, 
Or deeper grows than ever before! 

I wonder if, there in the great Unknown, 

Fo7id hearts grow weary when left alone! 

I think of the daily life I lead. 

Its broken dreams and its fitful starts. 

The hopeless hunger, the heart's sore need. 
The joy that gladdens, the wrong that parts. 

And wonder whether the coming years 

Will bring contentment, or toil and tears. 



40 LINES AND RHYMES. 



THE NAMELESS GUEST. 

I WONDER if ever the Angel of Death 

Comes down from the great Unknown, 
And soars away, on the wings of night, 

Unburdened and alone ! 
I wonder if ever the angels' eyes 

Are filled with pitying tears, 
As they grant to the souls, unfit for flight, 

A few more weary years ! 

For it seems, at times, when the world is still, 

And the soft night winds are whist. 
As though some spirit were hovering near. 

In folds of dream-like mist, 
And I feel, though mortals are noAvhere near. 

That I am not quite alone, 
And, with dreary thoughts of dying and death. 

My heart grows cold us stone. 

But Avhether 'tis death that hovers near. 

And knocks at the door of my heart. 
Or whetlier 'tis some bright angel, come 

To be of my life a part, 
I cannot tell, and I long in vain, 

The secret strange to know. 
While the moments of mirth and grief and pain. 

Move on in their ceaseless flow. 



THE NAMELE^;^ GUE/ST. 41 

Aud at night, when I kneel to a Higher Power 

And ask his tender care, 
One yearning cry of a wayward life 

Is the burden of my prayer. 
That I may bend, with willing lips, 

To kiss the chastening rod. 
And learn the way, throngh tlie golden gate. 

To the great white throne of God. 



42 LINES AND RHYMES. 



A CHALLENGE. 

" Good-night," he said, unci he hekl her h;uid, 

In a hesitating way, 
And hoped that her eyes would understand 

What his tongue refused to say. 

He held her hand, and he murmured low : 

" I'm sorry to go like this. 
It seems so frigidly cool, you know. 

This ' Mister ' of ours, and ' Miss.' 

"I thought —perchance — " and he paused to note 

If she seemed inclined to frown. 
But the light in her eyes his heartstrings smote. 

As she blusliingly looked down. 

She spoke no word, hut she picked a speck 

Of dust from his coat lapel; 
So small, such a wee, little tiny fleck, 

'Twas a wonder she saw so well; 

l')ut it brought her face so very near. 

In that dim, uncertain light, 
That the thought, unspoken, was made quite clear. 

And I know 'twas a sweet, " Good-night." 



niPERFECTUS, 43 



IMPERFECTUS. 

I WOJSTDER if ever a song was sung, 

But the singer's heart sang sweeter! 
I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung, 

But the thought surpassed tlie meter! 
I wonder if ever a sculptor Avrought, 
Till the cold stone echoed his ardent thought! 
Or if ever a painter, with light and shade. 
The dream of his inmost heart portrayed ! 

I wonder if ever a rose was found. 
And there might not be a fairer! 
Or if ever a glittering gem was ground. 

And we dreamed not of a rarer! 
Ah! never on earth do we fiiul the best. 
But it waits for us in a Land of Rest, 
And a perfect thing we shall never behold. 
Till we pass the portals of shining gold. 



44 LINES AND RHY3IBS. 



PRIORITY. 

In her cozy little chamber, with her feet nj^on the 
fender, 

She was reading Walter Scott, the while her hus- 
band, young and tender, 

Wore a smile upon his lips that neither tongue 
nor pen could render. 

" Not one person out of twenty, with the first fond 

lover marries," 
So she reads and o'er the sentence for a passing 

moment tarries. 
While her question, with a subtle subterfuge he 

quickly parries. 

" Was your ardent jirotestation unto me your first 

confession ? " 
And, "AVas your beloved admission, your initial 

concession ? " 
So they questioned till it promised to become a 

stormy session. 

"Well! I married my first love, providing you 
did," she said faintly, 

"If you didn't — why — I didn't," with a smile se- 
rene and saintly. 

Thus, by woman's wit, the quarrel was averted 
very quaintly. 



THE PIPEl^ OF PAJY. 45 



THE PIPES OF PAN. 

Beautiful Syrinx, garland clad. 
Over the hills and dales flew she. 

Goat-footed Pan pursued, like mad, 
Nothing of music then knew he; 

Love, sweet love, was in his heart 

And he knew no thought, from love a})art. 

Over the fields, through woodland bowers. 
White feet, wet with the glistening dew. 

Strewing the way with fragrant flowers. 
Closely followed, the naiad flew, 

Till, at last, she hid by the river bank. 

Where reeds and rushes rose, ra,nk on rank. 

Baffled and breatliless, here and there. 
Mad with the passion that knows no rest. 

Vainly the god searched, everywhere, 
Clasping the reeds to his hairy breast. 

And over their tops, as he held tlieni fast. 

The breath of his sighing swiftly passed. 

And soft on his ear, a sweet sound smote, 
A sound, so mellow and deep and clear, • 

That he sought on the reeds for another note, 
To gladden and comfort his listening ear. 

Till the harmony sweet that from them rose, 

Like a lullaby, soothed liim to calm repose. 



46 LIJVJSS AND RHYMES. 

And he only wakened to jiipe again, 

And to tell his love in the new-found notes, 

AVhile the birds sought vainly to voice the strain. 
With the strength and power of their swelling 
throats, 

And Syrinx, Avooed from her hiding place, 

Listened, with wonder ujjon her face. 

And Echo, too, from her mountain home, 
Down o'er tlie valley, trijiping came. 

Over tlie stream, like a flake of foam; 

While, deep in her heart, there rose a flame. 

Of love divine, for the being there. 

Whose trembling music filled the air. 

Ever since then. Love's sweet desire. 

Voiced in the tones of melody. 
Has found the spark of a kindred fire. 

In the souls that have heard love's minsti'elsy. 
•Love's sweet whispers, withstand who can, 
Heart seeks heart, through tlie notes of Pan. 



WHEN THE DARKNEm FALLS. 47 



WHEN THE DARKNESS FALLS. 

Two little hands are clasped in prayer, 
Hands like the lily leaves, so white, 

Pale little lips, with a weary air. 

Murmur: "God bless. my soul to night." 

" Mama," the dying angel calls, 

"AVill papa be here, when the darkness falls ?" 

Only the mother's tears rejily; 

Truth is, at times, too sad to tell; 
Maddened with grief, she hears that cry, 

Asking for one in a j)rison cell. 
'' Mama," the dying baby calls, 
'' Will jxipa be here, when the darkness falls ?" 

Slower and feebler each fleeting breath. 
Whiter the face that is pure as snow. 

Swifter the flight of the angel Death, 
Deeper the depth of the mother's woo. 

" Mama," again her darling calls, 

"Will papa be here, when the darkness falls?" 

Just as the daylight fades away. 

And the last faint ray sinks out of sight. 

Sweet lips wearily strive to pray; 

But the soul takes wing, with the waning light. 

Baby is dead, but from Heaven still calls: 

" Papa, dear, come when the darkness falls." 



48 LINES AND RHYMES. 



AT SUNRISE. 

Over the greeu grass, wet with dew. 
Lightly tripping, a maiden flew, 
Eyes alight with tlie gleam of love. 
And the golden snnlight fair ahove. 

Now she stops, and o'er the M-all, 

Dainty fingers and nimble feet 
Cantiously climb, where wild vines crawl. 

Plucking a nosegay, fresh and sweet. 
" If you wouldn't be 2>lucked frc^n your mossy bed, 
You never should be so sweet," she said. 

Over the fields, with a stnrdy stride, 
A yeoman stejjped to the maiden's side, 
And over the cheeks, that flushed so red. 
With a tender smile, he bent his her.d. 

And his arm stole gently 'round her there. 
While the nosegny fell to the ground, unseen. 

And the song-birds warbled a sprightlier air. 
For he kissed her a hundred times, I ween. 

" If you'd keep your kisses, dear lips so red. 

You never should be so sweet," he said. 



LET SILENCE FALL. 49 



LET SILENCE FALL. 

Let silence fall ucross the \)\x%i, 

Its fitful moods of storm and rain, 
Its weary hours of jealous pain, 

Let never heart or speech recall, 

If memory needs must break the spell, 
Kemernber — that I loved you well. 

And o'er the rest — let silence fall. 

Let silence fall between our lives. 

The one, sunlit, with youthful dreams. 
Flushed, with the future's hopeful gleams 

And held in proud ambition's thrall, 
The other, worn with anxious tears, 
And tired grown, with gathering years. 

Between them now — let silence fall. 

And let us part, as those who love, 

Are parted, by the hand of Death, 

And one stands, hushed, with reverent breatli. 

Gazing on funeral bier and pall, 
But ere we close the coffin lid. 
Let bitter memories all be hid. 

And o'er the grave — let silence fall. 



50 LINBS AND RHYMES. 



A CHOICE. 

'Tis weak to love, if all the world 

Is fickle, false and vain; 
'Tis sweet to love, though all the world 

Knows well that love is yAXw. 

'Tis vain to love, if love must change. 

And fill the eyes with tears ; 
'Tis wise to love, e'en though love range. 

And rack the heart with fears. 

'Tis vain, 'tis wise, 'tis weak, 'tis strong, 

We know not what to do. 
We only know the days are long. 

When loving words are few. 

To love is pain, ah! yes, 'tis true. 

And ever so 'twill be. 
But not to love and not to woo. 

Is greater all agree. 

So give me love, and let me find 

The sweeter, lesser woe; 
Love, fillet-bound, shall lead me blind 

Wherever he may go. 



THE RING. 51 



THE RING. 

A BAND of burnished gold 

My fingers gently hold, 
And through the mugic circle of its rim. 

Before my dreaming eyes 

A thousand memories rise 
And fill my soul with longing, vague and dim. 

I seem to see the gate, 

At which I used to wait. 
For her who gave to me this token sweet; 

I feel a tender thrill 

That calls to mind the hill. 
Where hours, like moments, fled on jiinions fleet. 

The form of youthful grace. 

The smiling tender face. 
Is near me still, in spirit, though the years 

Have slowly come and fled 

And cherished hopes lie dead 
Along my way, too thickly strewn for tears. 

Oh! little band of gold! 

A wealth of joy untold 
Your sliining circle conjures to my mind. 

And will, until my breath 

Shall meet the kiss of death, 
And all the pain of earth is left behind. 



52 LINES AND RHYMES. 



AN OLD SKULL. 

Under a tree, in a grassy glade. 
Delved I deep, with a well-worn spade. 
And there, half-hid in the soil, I saw 
A row of teeth and a lower jaw, 

'Twas a skull all gray and grinning. 

With a bit of glass I scraped it clean, 
'Twas the first of its kind I had ever seen. 
So I fixed the jaw with a piece of twine. 
Hung the skull on a climbing vine. 
And said, with an accent winning: 

"I say, old skull, you've a happy face, 
I thought that the grave was a dismal place, 
I'll wager a hat that when on earth 
You hadn't that permanent look of mirth. 
And frowned as you went about sinning. 

Confess if you're happier now than then. 
And I'll put you back in the earth again. 
Refuse and your future shall surely be 
In the dusty den of an old M.D, 
The old skull kept on grinning. 



A CniilSTMAS STOliV. 53 



A CTinTSTMAS STORY. 

I. 

I PASSED tlie door of a house List night, 

Where a ricli man lives, in a princely way, 
And asleep on the steps, lay a man, half clad, 

Benumbed with the cold, and with sorrow gray; 
Tlie mansioiis grand were ablaze with light, 

I could hear the tread of the dancers' feet. 
But mourning bands swung to and fro, 

From the one dark door on the brilliant street, 

II. 

'Twas a pitiful story I listened to. 

Of a ruined home and a blighted life. 
For the woman, dead, in the rich man's house, 

Had been the sleeper's misguided wife. 
I touched his shoulder and said : " See here. 

There's a storm, in the sky there, olT to the west. 
Just gather yourself together, my man. 

This isn't a very good place to rest. 

III. 

" These stones are hard that you're lying on. 

Hard as the hearts of the men yon meet. 
There are beds to be had, for a dime or so. 

Which are better than stones in the open street. 
I haven't an over sujiply myself, 

Of the cash you seem to sadly need. 
But here's for a lodging and breakfast, man, 

I wish it were more: take the will for the deed." 



54 LINES AND RHYMES. 

IV. 
"That's the first kind word that my cars have 
heard, 

For a month or more,'' the man replied. 
" I'm only the wreck of the man I was. 

But a kind word rouses the old-time pride, 
I don't owe a dollar, in this wide world, 

Not a single cent to a living man, 
I've worked like a slave, to find success ; 

But I've finished, I've striven all I can. 



V. 

"I've seen bright days, when my purse was lined 

With bills and silver and yellow gold, 
I've known the joys of a happy home. 

And alas ! I've seen the wolf in the fold ; 
A wolf, that came in a friend's disguise. 

And stole the love of a gentle wife, 
Eobbed me of happiness, home and hoi^e. 

Snatched all the joy and light from my life. 

VI. 

" She didn't love him. She loved me well. 

Till the time when poverty's curse was mine; 
111 fortune had followed my first success. 

And she — well — her tastes were always fine; 
So, when the tempter S2:)read out his wealth. 

And pictured the comforts it would buy, 
There was little need of persuasion then, 

He found her more than ready to fly. 



A CHRItiTMAS STORY. 65 

VIL 

" Did we have a, child ? Oli! yes,, a boy; 

A bright-eyed, happy-hearted lad. 
He was eight years old when I saw him last, 

And he stuck to his father, through good and 
bad. 
But I lost him too; I was out one day. 

Hunting employment, from store to store. 
The rent was due and I knew right well 

If I asked for time, I could get no more. 



VIII. 

" So I hurried about, in the broiling sun, 

Heartsick and footsore and wear}' — well— 
I only remember that all turned black 

And I sank, in a sort of a fainting spell. 
'Twas a week before I knew where I was, 

In the ward of a hospital, cool and clean, 
And when I was better, my boy was gone. 

For days, not a sign of him had been seen. 

IX. 

" I thought she took him, or better still. 

Perhaps God took him, in time to save 
His bright young eyes from the dreary sight 

Of a father, dead, in an unmarked grave: 
I'm not a drunkard, sir; look at my face. 

It isn't bloated, it's pale and thin 
And worn with the failures I've met, so long. 

And saddened from losing, where others win. 



56 LINES AND RHYMES. 

X. 

'>' But give me the coin, sir; your card as well, 

Some day, if Fortune should smile again, 
ril pay it back and will walk, perhaj^s, 

With my head erect, like other men. 
For ril try once more and if failure comes, 

I know of a refuge from all tliis strife, 
Where many a soul finds rest and peace. 

Who has broken down on the road of life. 



XI. 

" There's a news-boy yonder. Perhaps you'll find, 

In one of his papers, a place for me ; 
Just glance one over and read me, sir, 

A few of the likeliest "wants' you see." 
I called to the boy : " Look here, my lad. 

Will you lend us a jiaper a second or two ?" 
lie laughed as he answered : " There ain't any law 

Against my sellin' a paper to you." 

XII. 

At the sound of his voice, the old man stared. 

And \n\t out his hand in a groping way. 
Then passed it over his forehead, bare. 

As though his senses had gone astray. 
" What's wrong ? " I questioned, but still he stood, 

And murmured a name, but he did not stir. 
Then he said, as he looked at the rich man's 
door, 

" That voice, somehow, led me to tliink of her. 



A CHRISTMAS STORY. 57 

XIII. 

" Supposing — but no — it's a foolish thought. 

There's no such fortune in store for me." 
But I called the boy quickly, " This way, my lad, 

Turn your face to the light, where I can see. 
I want you to tell me your name," I said. 

He answered me smiling : " It's ' Deacon or 
' Fool,' 
They call me the first 'cause I never swear, 

iVnd belong to a class in the Sunday-school. 



AIV. 

"They call me the other, just 'cause, sometimes. 

When some o' the boys, that ain't real bright. 
Get stuck on their jiapers, I buy 'em out 

And sell 'em by stayin' out late at night. 
That's why I'm a-workin' as late as this." 

" But what is your real name," I asked of him. 
Before he could answer, the man spoke up, 

And his voice was husky, his eyes were dim. 

XV. 

*' Can you remember, four years ago, 

A father who loved you, and every night. 
Read stories to please you and heard your prayers. 

And made you a monster, big, paper kite ? " 
"' Why, yes ! " said the boy, '' and I asked him once. 

If I had a mother, way up in Heaven. 
He told me, ' No,' but I heard him say, 

" I wonder if such ones are ever fora-iven.' " 



58 LINES ANB RHYMES. 

XVI. 

The poor man staggered, as from a blow, 

For the bands of crape he coukl plainly see. 
"Not a word to the boy, to night," he said, 

" He wouldn't be 2)roud of a man like me; 
He is mine once more, and I feel, somehow, 

I can work and strive like other men; 
I'll watch him and guard him until, with pride. 

His liiDS shall breathe the word ' father ' again. 

XVII. 

" You'll see me, to-morrow, a different man, 
It's a pleasure to work for a noble son; 

Come, boy, let's go to a lodging house; 

Good night, sir. God bless you for what you've 

done." 
****** * * 

To-night, I met them, a happy pair, 

Well dressed and planning a future bright. 

For both had a purpose and work to do. 

Beginning, they told me, with Christmas night. 

XVIII. 

From the church, near by, an anthem rose, 

" Glad tidings, and peace, on earth good-will," 
I heard him murmur, with trembling voice, 

"And the prayers of thy servant, Lord ! fulfil ;" 
'Twas an earnest prayer, and I said "Amen," 

I knew he had j)rayed for the boy at his side. 
" Good night; good fortune attend you," I said, 

"And keep the good cheer of your Christmas- 
tide." 



SPRING SOJVa. 59 



SPRING SONG. 

Oh ! I am a fairy, in garments green, 

My wings are as light as air, 
]\Iy slippers are dainty as e'er were seen, 
And a magical wand I bear. 

I hide in the nooks. 

By the frozen brooks, 
And coax them to break old Winter's chains ; 

And his old bones crack. 

As I drive him back. 
With his blustering winds, to his own domains. 

I tease him with showers, by day and night, 

Until he is glad to go; 
I laugh when he clutches in wild alTright 
Ilis glistening robe of snow; 

I lovingly peep 

At the flowers asleep. 
And kiss them to life when the blue birds sing. 

I am light and gay 

Through the live-long day, 
And the happiest child of the year is Spring. 



60 LINES AND RHYMES. 



THE RABBI AND THE PRINCE. 

VERSIFIED FROM THE TALMUIX 

A MONARCH sat in serious thought, alone, 
But little reck'd he of his robe and throne; 
Naught valuing the glory of control, 
He sought to solve the future of his soul. 
" Why should I bow the ])roud, inijxn-ious knee. 
To mighty powers no mortal C'e can see ? '' 
So mused he long ana turned this question o'er. 
Then, with impatient tread, he paced the floor, 
Till maddened by conflicting trains of thought 
And speculations vague, which came to naught, 
With feverish haste he clutched a tasseled cord 
As desperate hands, in battle, clutch a sword. 
" Summon Jehoshua," the monarch cried. 
The white-haired Rabbi soon was at his side. 
****** 

'■■ I bow no more to powers I cannot see; 
Thy faith and learning shall be naught to me, 
Unless, before the setting of the sun. 
Mine eyes behold tlie uncreated one." 

* * * * * * 

The Rabbi led him to the open air. 

The oriental sun with furious glare 

Sent down its rays, like betims of molten gold. 

The aged teacher, pointing, said : " Behold." 



THE RABBI AND THE PRINCE. 61 

" I cannot," said the Prince, " my dazzled eyes 
Eefuse their service, turned upon the skies." 
****** 

" Son of the dust," the Rabbi gently said 
And bowed, with reverence, his hoary head, 
"This one creation, thou canst not behold. 
Though by thy lofty state and pride made bold. 
IIow canst thou then behold the God of Light, 
Before whose face these sunbeams are as night ? 
Thine eyes before this trifling labor fall, 
Canst gaze on Him who hath created all ? 
Son of the dust, repentance can atone; 
Eeturn and worshij) God, who rules alone." 



62 LINES AND RHYMES. 



THE GREEN-ROOM GLASS. 

I'm only a battered old green-room glass, 
But I've done my duty for many years, 

Telling a story to all who pass. 

Of joy and sadness, of smiles and tears. 

All ! but my tale is a varied one, 

For I have seen fond hopes decay; 
Bright, happy lives that were just begun 

Saddened by sorrow, grow old and gray. 

I have seen ladies of wealth and fame. 
Wearing the rags of a pauper's fate; 

I have seen others, without a name. 
Clad in the robes of royal state. 

Children that prattled, before my face, 
I have seen grow into great renown; 

Others, alas! have met deep disgrace. 

Scorned by companions and shunned by the town. 

Ah ! but 'tis sad when I see a face 

Wrinkled and pale, with the flight of years, 

AVhich I once knew so full of grace; 
Radiant smiles, where now are tears. 

Vassal and master, matron and maid, 
Look at me, smile at me, just the same, 

Each in a transient garb arranged, 
Seeking the vanishing bubble — Fame. 



THE QREEN-ROUM GLASS. 03 

Often I hear them cry out in pain. 
Often I long to bend down and bless, 

Weary, worn mortals, that strive in vain, 
Failing where others have found success. 

Never from me is a thing concealed — 
Here, before me, they must all confess; 

Standing alone and with hearts revealed, 

Donning their smiles as they don their dress. 

Oh ! to be free from this gas-lit place. 

Brightened again by the flowers and grass ! 

Oh ! for Reality's honest face — 

Weary of sham is the green-room glass. 



Ott LIJYIJS AND RHYMES. 



A SEA SONG. 

I LOVE the sea ! I love the sea ! 

And the spray from its waves comes kissing me, 

As I stand on the shore. 

When the flood tides roar 
And the white caj^s dance right merril3\ 

The dear, old waves, from the coral caves. 
And the sunny strands that the water laves. 

Come close to my feet. 

With legends sweet. 
Of the mighty ocean's domes and naves. 

The whole day long, they croon a song, 
And the red-lipped shells the sound prolong. 

Of a loved one dear. 

Who is hastening here. 
On a ship that is swift and staunch and strong. 



THE QUIET HOUR. (56 



THE QUIET HOUR. 

At sunset, out across the hills, 

I rode into tlie dying day; 
The brooks sang low, with tender trills, 

Tlie birds were silent on my way. 

The crickets chirped in monotone; 

The bees were sleei)ing on the hill; 
The wind swept by with solemn moan; 

My heart grew sad, my voice was still. 

Yet, in my breast sw.cet thonglits were born, 
Unmixed with aught of earth's alloy. 

And words were faltering and out-worn, 
That sought to voice my silent joy. 

The quiet hour of eventide 

Subdues man's stormy soul within, 

And pure thoughts through his musings glide 
Without a trace of soil or sin. 

But with the joy of high-born thought. 
There is a lingering touch of 2>ain, 

A yearning, with sweet suffering fraught. 
When utterance strives, and strives in vain. 

But while the sombre shadows slept 
Upon the hills and o'er the vales. 

Between the trees the moonbeams crept, 
xVnd swift illumed the quiet dales. 



m LINES AND RHY3IES. 

The silver moonliglit, sifting through 
The leaves and branches of the trees, 

On wings of light, around me flew, 
And mingled with the shifting breeze. 

Like mist at morn, sad thoughts took flight, 
The wide world opened like a scroll. 

And ere the day had turned to night 
Delight alone filled all my soul. 



IJY WO-JIAJV'S LAWB. 67 



IN NO-MAN'S-LAND. 

Two shapes were walking, on tlic strand, 
One starlit night, in no-man's- land. 

Two shapes that, dnring mortal life. 
Gave hate for hate, in deadly strife. 

They met. Swift forth their falchions flew; 
Each pierced the other, through and through; 

Yet neither fell. Again they strove 
For mastery, and madly drove 

To right and left their falcliions bright; 
Nor sound, nor cry profaned the night. 

Through corselet, casque and visor too. 
As through the air their swift blades flew; 

Until amazed, they stood aghast. 
And on the sands their weapons cast. 

Then laughed they both at mortal strife. 
The passing dream of earthly life. 

And clasping each the other's hand, 
They walk the shades of no-man's land. 



G8 LINES AND RHYMEkS. 



SEPTEMBER RE VERY. 

I can't seem to realize, fully. 

How quickly the season has flown; 
I've scarce had a day through the summer. 

To rest and to be quite alone. 
I've been yachting and driving and bathing, 

I know every horse on the track; 
And I've planned out a beautiful future; 

I'm engaged to be married to Jack. 

From the first of July to September, 

Is not a long courtship I know; 
But then, if we wait until Christmas, 

'Twill be half a twelvemonth, and so, 
After telling Jack "Yes," on an impulse, 

I couldn't somehow take it back; 
And he says we can court all our lifetime. 

So I'm to be married to Jack. 

He hasn't a very large fortune, 

But he's handsome and brimful of life. 
And he says that his prospects will brighten 

With me for his own little wife. 
How little I dreamed when I came here. 

How settled and staid I'd go back ! 
Not caring for flirting and dancing. 

For I'm to be married to Jack. 



SEPTEMBER HE VERY. 69 

I thought, at the first of the season. 

Of titles and money and style; 
But the charm which they hold is but trifling, 

When I think of his bright, tender smile. 
Ah, me ! when a girl loves her lover, 

Of happiness there is no lack; 
My heart is as light as a feather, 

I'm engaged to be married to Jack. 



70 LINEIS AND RHYMES. 



THE LAST GLADIATOEIAL COMBAT. 

The scene of conflict was tlie Libyan plain; 
Honorins, Emperor, sat in })rou(l disdain, 
Upon liis Ijlazoned throne, half lost in thonght. 
For death that rased below him carins^ nauffht. 

The sands lay glistening in the torrid sun. 
Blood-red, where many a brave life-tide had run. 
And ere the day credit down the glowing west, 
A hundred souls had found eternal rest. 

With flashing swords uplifted in their hands, 
Two gladiators met upon the sands. 
Firm friends and fast, yet mortal was their strife, 
For one, to live, must take the other's life. 

Their glances met for one swift, fleeting breath. 
And read this thouglit: "No wounds, but sjieedy 

death." 
With valorous swords, they fought both long and 

well. 
Till one, with broken sword-bLide, tripped and fell. 

The hoarse-voiced rabble shouted loudly: "Kill!" 
The victor turned to learn the Emperor's will. 
His pleading ej^es beseeching him to spare, 
But, lost in thought, the monarch gazed in air. 



THE LAHT OLADIATUJIIAL COMBAT. 71 

"Kill! Kill! " the rabble shouted, growing bold. 
The bright blade gleamed, when loud a voice cried 

"Hold!" 
And swift, across those reeking Libyaii sands, 
A white-haired monk rushed forth, with lifted 

hands. 

The multitude, in silence, stood aghast; 
The monarch from his reverie roused, at last. 
When brave Telemachus, devoid of fear, 
Proclainu'd aloud : " The wrath of God is near. 

^'Foui- luindred years the Word of God hath 

taught : 
'Thou shalt not kill,' and shall it go for naught! 
Shall kings a 2)rice of human bloodshed pay. 
To make, for savage men, a holiday? 

" Ilonorius, Emperor thougli tliou art, beware! 
Nor king, nor slave, the wrath of God can dare." 
Swift o'er the arena twenty warriors trod. 
And twenty swords struck down the man of God. 

But through his death his words became a i)Ower 
To move Ilonorius, every day and hour. 
Until, at last, the monarch's royal hand. 
Sent forth an edict o'er the Libyan land. 

"Thou shalt not kill. The Word of God revere, 
Thy captive slaves release from bondage drear." 
Small need of praise from mortal tongue or pen 
For him who died to save his fellow-men. 



72- LIJYBS AND RHYMES. 



A DREAM OF SUMMER. 

Out through the summer's golden glow, 

Across the land, into the west, 
I rode at sunset, sad and slow, 

Where the end of the rainbow sinks to rest, 
Out toward the realms of the setting sun. 
As the night came down and the day was done. 

The insects hummed a lullaby. 

In cozy homes of folded leaves; 
The birds had ceased to chirp on high, 

Within their nests, beneath the eaves; 
The nodding flowers, along the way. 
Seemed bowing low, to slumber's sway. 

Adown the path, where arching trees. 

Clasped hands and kissed, with lips of leaves, 

I drank the burden of the breeze. 

The scent of flowers and garnered sheaves. 

And, over all, the lingering light 

Of sunbeams and the stars of night. 

Alas! these dreams of summers past 

Will drift into our drowsy hours; 
Too sweet, too Heavenly high to last. 

But laden with tlie breath of flowers; 
Within, bright thoughts and memories sweet, 
AVithout, the snow and blinding sleet. 



ON THE WAY. 78 



ON THE WAY. 

Soft shadows fall along the wall, 

That girts the roadway where I run. 
The waning light foretells the night 

And swift pursues the retreating sun, 
I see afar a twinkling star — 

The herald of a million more, 
The great waves creep, as half asleep. 

Along the distant, sandy shore. 

The world is still, and yet a thrill 

Of joy intense pervades my soul. 
While Nature seems to be in dre;ims. 

As down the gentle slope I roll; 
The rifted clouds that drift in crowds 

Along the far horizon's rim, 
Eeflect the rays of distant days' 

Last lingering sunlight faint and dim. 

A sweet wild rose unnoticed grows, 

Half-hidden in the long, strong grass; 
Sweet thoughts arise of love-lit eyes — 

I lean and clutch it as I pass. 
My love will wear within her hair 

This sweet memento of the hour; 
I shall forget the dream; but yet 

My life has felt its subtle power. 



74 LINE^ AND RHY3IES. 



MISERRIMUS. 

Tup: down of thistles, swaying on the hreeze. 

An autumn leaflet, falliiig from tlie trees, 

A bit of drift-wood, floating down the stream, 

A subtle fancy, passing in a dreafn. 

Thus pass our days, and like a deep-drawn sigh 

The noblest life but lives to say " Good-by." 

Life! Death! A¥e know not which is best, 
The day of toil or night's unending rest; 
Long vistas in our future wo unfold 
And find, at last, a dream that soon is told. 
Happy the man whose life is boundless love 
For that which waits us, in the realms above. 

Will that time come, when hearts will cease to beat 
O'er earthly joys ? when Love's first kisses sweet 
Give no delight ? Ah! then and then alone. 
Poor weary hearts will cease to sigh and moan; 
Plunge as we will into the world's wild din. 
We cannot drown the heartache hid within. 



FASSIJyG CLOUDS. 75 



PASSING CLOUDS. 

In leafy dales, where song-birds sing 

Tlieir notes of joy the whole day through, 

'Tis sweet to watch the clouds that float 
Across the bro:;d expanse of blue, 

And with each cloud let bright hopes rise 
That comfort you. 

"What though each cloud is not like snow 
Fringed round with golden beams of light. 

To know and feel the sunlit day 

We needs must pass through shades of night, 

And something comes, in each dark day, 
That comforts you. 

Then let bright clouds cheer up your heart. 
And put sad, dreary thoughts to flight. 

And let the dark ones cheer you too. 

They make the bright ones seem more bright, 

Thus, life is made one long, sweet dream 
That comforts you. 



76 LINES AND RHYMES. 



THE TIGER AND THE TWI^N^; 

A SPX^UEL TO THE LADY OR THE TIGER. 

For six long years tlie patient literary })ublic 
of two continents has been treading the maze of 
ethical discussion and pondering over tlie intrica- 
cies of psychic formulae, endeavoring to determine 
by the analogy of mental processes whether a lady 
or a tiger emerged from a certain, mysterious door, 
toward which the heroine of the thrilling tale had 
made a lightning-like gesture. 

It "will be remembered by those who read the 
story calmly and seriously, as was befitting such a 
narrative, that the courtier who had dared to love 
tlie daughter of his King, entered the arena, at a 
given signal, and traversed half the distance, in 
the direction of the twin doors, opposite the throne 
of the semi-barbaric imperial presence. 

He then turned, as was the custom, to make his 
obeisance, but instead of doing so, fixed his eyes 
upon the trembling princess, believing that her 
love for liim had led her to discover behind which 
door crouched a hungry tiger, ready and willing 
to devour him and behind which stood a waiting 
and blushing maiden, more than ready and willing 
to wed him. 

As was stated in the narrative, the punishments 
for guilt and the rewards of innocence were com- 



THE TIGER AND THE TWIN. 77 

paratively instantaneous; indeed, so swift was the 
administration of the decree, tliat before the pris- 
oner could fully realize his mistake he would he 
located in the tiger's interior, while, on the other 
hand, his reward was characterized by the same 
remarkable celerity, for the instant the waiting 
maiden stepped into the arena, from a door ojjpo 
site, a priest with attendants entered to perform 
the wedding ceremony, and the children treading 
epithahimic measures circled arouiul the semi- 
stunned bridegroom so hilariously that he could 
scarcely collect his senses sufficiently to note how 
exceedingly epithalamic the measures were. It is 
not to be wondered at, considering the trepidation 
with vvhicli he had looked forward to this critical 
juncture, that his gaze, for the instant, was more 
penetrating than tender, and it may have been this 
lack of tenderness which aroused, in the mind of 
the princess, a question as to whether the courtier 
might not be more than content to win existence 
by a fortunate choice, regardless of the maiden's 
identity. 

Especial care had always been exercised in the 
selection of maidens, particular attention having 
been paid to the appropriateness of the possible 
union. 

His manner betrayed nothing but severe cogita- 
tion as to the justice of turning over to mere 
chance the decreeing of sudden death or equally 
sudden marriage. In his hours of imprisonment, 
while the princess had been impairing her beauty 
bv the violence of her emotions, he had been 



78 LINES AND RHYMES. 

speculating on tlie 2)rob:il)ilities in favor of his 
choosing the door to the h-ft. Through many 
trifling gifts, but more througli liis grace and 
courtliness, he had managed to win the sympathies 
of his jailor, and from him had learned that out of 
forty-seven judgments, in which the semi-harbaric 
King had resorted to the problematic justice of 
the lady ami the tiger, thirty-two had chosen the 
door to the right and been devoured. Certain 
subjects had secretly entertained a suspicion that 
even the King's rectitude was not proof against 
the temptation to put a tiger behind both doors, 
when a grievance of his own was to be adjudicated, 
but nothing could be ocularly demonstrated to 
that elfect, since thirty-two, after making a choice, 
were practically incapable of making another, and 
fifteen were amply content to remain devoid of 
meddling curiosity as to what the other door might 
conceal. He also learned that, at the last five trials, 
the tiger had been concealed behind the door to 
the right. 

By a system of equalization, or lav/ of probabili- 
ties, he reasoned that the nsnal sequence of varia- 
tion pointed toward the door on the left and he 
had determined upon making that choice. 

Knowing the intensity of feeling which must 
have swayed the princess at the moment their eyes 
met, the ilouI)t which was born in his breast, as to 
her willingness to see him in the arms of another, 
for the time usurped supremacy over all his men- 
tal functions. 

The impetuosity yf her gesture might betoken 



THE TIGER AND THE TWIN. 7S) 

the entirety of an affection Avliieli controlled every 
libre of her being, lending all its force to the mus- 
cular dictations, or it might betray the eagerness 
of a sudden resolve to endure one terrible moment 
rather than the years of slow torture which his 
marriage with another would necessarily involve, 
should she prove unable to outgrow the psychic 
influence with which the courtier had permeated 
her entire existence. 

For an instant, only, he wavered between the 
dictations of his law of probabilities and the swift 
mandate of the princess. Even though she should 
misdirect him, be could die feeling that a devo- 
tion, sufRciently vigorous to suggest such extreme 
measures, must contain the elements requisite for 
continuance beyond an earthly career, and as the 
days of earth constituted merely a transition period 
to that state where the aspirations of the soul tran- 
scend the corporeal attributes, he believed it ad- 
visable to follow the suggestion which his eye 
alone had recognized. With this thought in mind, 
he strode boldly to the door on the right and fling- 
ing it back u])on its well-oiled hinges beheld — a 

TIGER. 

The natural instinct of self-preservation caused 
him to start back, and immediately following this 
mental shock came the realization that the prin- 
cess had sent him to his death, but while these 
bewildering emotions were warring in his breast, 
something in the demeanor of the tiger caused 
him to observe more closely the apparent inten- 
tions of the beast. The customary spring from 



80 LINES AND RHYMES. 

the couchaut to the rampant attitude had been 
lacking; the savage roar which had been in the 
habit of echoing and re-eclioing through the cav- 
erns and corridors of the amphitlieatre was also 
missing. The whole bearing of the animal seemed 
amicable to an amazing degree. 

One swift, searching glance gave to the courtier 
the key to the situation, and whispering un Arabic 
name, under his breatli, to tlie tiger, tlie animal, 
docile as a kitten, came to him and licked his 
hand. Another word, again in the Arabic tongue, 
and the tiger sprawled at his feet, permitting him 
to place his foot upon his neck. 

Long years before, in the wilds of an Arabian 
jungle, a twin brother of the courtier had captured 
this same tiger, and as playmates they had grown 
up together. Doubtless the keeper in the door- 
way beyond was the twin, disguised. The courtier 
saluted the King, while the multitude rent the air 
with shouts. Some rejoiced that one so brave and 
fiiir and young should escape so terrible a fate, 
while many were maddened by the disappointment 
of beholding neither a tragedy nor a comedy, but 
a spectacle in which the component parts of both 
had been strangely commingled. 

It was evident that the twin had brought about 
his brother's deliverance, but surely through the 
power and influence of the princess, and this proof 
of her fidelity flushed his cheek with joy. 

The semi-barbaric King was tossed hither and 
thither on the waves of indecision. His method 
of administering justice had miscarried. That 



THE TiaER ANT) THE TWIN. 81 

which had heretofore been determinate and final, 
now became uncertain and unsatisfying. 

The courtier had chosen the door Avhich be- 
tokened guilt, yet guilt had not met with punish- 
ment. Had lie chosen the other door aiul had the 
maiden refused to marry, he could not have been 
more surprised than was he at the amicability of 
the tiger. He had ordered tlie fiercest beast at- 
tainable, and had sjiecified that he should fast for 
three days prior to the exhibition. Hitherto ab- 
solutely absolute in his authority, the semi-barbaric 
King allowed the semi in his character to outnias 
ter the barbaric and resolved that the situation 
was one which demanded the deliberations and 
counsel of other minds. Summoning his followers, 
he chose, from their numljcr, those in whom he 
believed intuitive perception had reached its ripest 
perfection, ordered the courtier to be once more 
incarcerated and led the way to the council cham- 
ber. 

In his agitation over the upheaval of his pet 
theory of poetic justice, the King neglected to 
appoint a special guardian for the j^risoner, and 
the princess being older than her younger brother, 
seized the opportunity of appointing a man whose 
trustworthiness in underhand matters was jn-o- 
verbial. 

The arguments of the counsellors lasted far into 
the night, and the final verdict was that if the 
tiger had been tampered with and it should be 
proven by careful examination that he had been 
overfed rather than starved, the courtier should be 



82 LlJymS AND RHYMES. 

compelled to j^ass through the ordeal of judicial 
choice again. 

If, on the contrary, the orders of the King had 
been obeyed, the comeliest maiden in the kingdom 
should be given him to wed. 

Shortly after sunrise on the following morning 
the ringing of bells and the voices of the heralds 
gave notice to the patrons of the arena that some 
one of their number had ignored the imperial 
mandate and fed the tiger, and that on the fol- 
lowing clay the fiercest beast ever placed in cap- 
tivity would be behind one of the twin doors, 
while behind the other should stand a maiden, 
who was beloved, as all the kingdom knew, by the 
younger brother of the princess and who had long 
since showed by word and sign that the prospec- 
tively imperial affection was not distasteful to her. 

The trustworthiness of the guardian selected 
by the princess remained intact, and by a simple 
process of secret communication it was arranged 
that the young prince should disguise himself as 
the courtier and choosing the door to the left meet 
the woman of his choice and be there and then 
wed according to the usual rites. Being the 
daughter of a semi-barbaric father, of course tlie 
princess possessed certain component jjarts which 
were barbaric in character, yet it was not entirely 
the possession of these elements which brought 
about the stirring incidents of the second trial. 
At the usual signal, a youth, to all appearance the 
courtier, advanced to the centre of the arena, sa- 
luted the King and stepping lightly to the door 



THE TIGER AND THE TWIN. 83 

on the left, threw it open and clusped close to his 
breiist the woman lie adored. 

From anotlier door a priest with attendants a})- 
peared and the marriage was solemnized, after 
which the children strewed flowers to the foot of 
the throne npon which sat the King, wrapped in a 
cloud of thought as to whether or not some subtle 
jiower beyond his control watched over and pro- 
tected the youth who had thus miraculously es- 
caped a second time. 

As the wedding procession drew near, however, 
the sharp eyes of the King pierced the disguise of 
the prince and recognized the son. Semi-barbaric 
rage, more than any other, resorts to excess when 
roused to its full completeness, and so it came 
about that the King, attired in his robes of state, 
rushed to the centre of the arena and uttered an 
oath of vengeance upon all who had conspired to 
overthrow his judicial system. 

Knowing that the prince was lacking in courage 
and doubting if there had been any chance in his 
choice of doors, the King believed that no tiger 
had been provided. Im2)elled by tiiis idea and 
fatally eager to determine the fact, he flcAv to the 
door on the right, flung it open and was speedily 
devoured. The prince, thus becoming king, ele- 
vated the courtier to a rank befitting his valor and 
the depth of his devotion, and his marriage with 
the princess was consummated with as much hilar- 
ity as was consistent, considering the proximity 
and p'eci'.liarity of a demise so eminently semi-bar- 
baric. 



84 LINES AND RHYMES. 

Thus, after six years of anxious solicitude, the 
great reading public le.irns, that in the im})artial 
justification of this single instance, Jiot only did 
the lady emerge from the hidden recesses but the 
lady and two tigers, one tame and the other not so 
much so. 



IN LONDON TOW J£R. 85 



m LONDON TOWEPi. 

[In an old worm-eaten chest, tlie propei'ty of a loflger named AVil- 
liam Willston, who died in a London tenement, was found tlie MS. 
of the (ale wliieh follows. 

AVhet'aer it is a true recital of nn unreeordeil escape, or whether 
it is fnim the imajifiiiation (jf some pariia!!y iiisani' p.M-son, will prob- 
alily never be known, as all tr.ict^s are lo -.t beyond the time of Ber 
tliold Willston, an inn-keeper and great grandfather of the deceased 
lodger. To him the possession of the old chest has been traced. The 
condition of the MS., the te.Yture of the pap r, the appearance of the 
ink, which is but dimly seen on the paper, and the mention of the 
broken sword wilh the jeweled hilt, leadt(Uhe belii^f that the MS. is 
certainly of great age, and ihat it belongs to the period wlu!n such 
imprisonments were not unusual.] 

I, Williiim AVortliington, believing that I am 
about to die, jiray to Heaven for strength to tell a 
tale of wrong and suffering. I know not the year 
in which I am living. I dare not ask. I only 
pray for strength to finish, for my wife and chil- 
dren, if they still live, the story of my Avoes. The 
shock of freedom upon my broken constitution is 
])roving too great, and I feel that death is near. 
I was a warder in the Tower of London. For 
twenty years I had been faithful to my trust, and 
had lived according to the dictations of an honest 
heart. 

Every prisoner jilaced under my surveillance 
for twenty years had been tried, judged and seii- 
tenced l)y my inner consciousness; and as my in- 
tuitions led me, so were they treated, though I 



86 LINE^ AND liHY3IES. 

never violated a law. It is witliin the poAver of a 
warder to add greatly to a prisoner's comfort and 
welfare, though he may grant no illegal freedom. 
Books, pipes, writing materials and games were 
speedily -forthcoming for those whom I believed 
more sinned against than sinning. 

It mattered not to me whether the accused was 
a duke or an earl in the turret chambers, or a 
peasant in the dungeon. 

By this inner tribunal of my own, I judged that 
the Duke of Elton had been a traitor to his king, 
and from my hands he received no favors beyond 
the requirements of the law. 

I little dreamed that so great a personage would 
wreak vengeance upon a vassal, so far below him, 
yet his hirelings gave oatli, months after his release, 
that during a time wlien the utmost watchfulness 
had been enjoined \\\^on the warders I was found 
asleep at my post. During that critical period the 
penalty was death. 

That very day I had walked far into the suburbs 
of London, on leave of absence to visit my family, 
and had returned to take my usual watch from 
nine at night until nine on the following morn- 
ing. 

I was weary and travel-stained, which told 
against me, but as there is a just God in Heaven, 
I did not sleep on my post, neither that night nor 
any night during my years of service. A warder 
had once slept and allowed the escape of political 
prisoners. He was accused of complicity, and the 
death penalty had been instituted. 



tif LONDON TO]VER. 87 

T could prove nothing. I luid paced tlie corri- 
d()r,s through tlie uight, but the prisoners liad slept 
<ind could say nothing to save me. 

Two men claimed to have jiasscd thi'ough the 
coi'rid(n" as the clock struck twelve, and upon their 
oaths affirmed thab I was sleeping. If they en- 
tered the corridor at all, it was while T was at the 
further end, and they must have left it before my 
return. In vain I protested my innocence. Tlie 
friends of the Duke of Elton were in favor, and 
my doom seemed inevitable. 

I had been foully dealt with, and during a short 
recess I bethought me of foul means for escape. 

I had a staunch friend in the tower, a fellow- 
warder. I M'ould risk everything and trust to him. 
The infinite patience and kindness of a mother's 
love had taught me to write, and I carelessly toyed 
with the materials at hand. Stealthily writing a 
word or two now and then, without detection, at 
last it was finished, no whit too soon, for the op- 
portunity came at once to slip into the warder's 
hand, unseen, this writing: 

" Haste to the clock, outside the wall. Cut, with a saw, a thir- 
teenth notch, after the twelve, i:i the strikiug wheel, and save the 
life of William Worthingion." 

With this paper crumpled in his hand, he gave 
his evidence, which availed me naught, save to 
prove that I was at my post before eleven o'clock, 
and that the usual greetings were exchanged. 

As he passed out he gave me a searching look, 
but its meaning I could not divine. I could not 
tell his bearing toward me. If I were removed, 



88 LINES ANJ) RHYMES. 

my jilace would become liis, and I Avas a little 
above him, Wonld be risk imprisonment for liim- 
self to save me ? 

Midnight alone could answer. 

For the last uime I was asked if I bad aixgbt to 
s.iy, and, as though under the influence of a sud- 
den recollection, I said : 

" These men claim that the clock struck twelve 
while I was sleeping. At twelve o'clock I Avas 
awake, in proof of whicli know tliis: The great 
clock needs repairing, for at twelve in the niglit I 
counted thirteen strokes of the bell. It will 
proliably do so again to-night. AVait and see." 

"Oh, the horror of those hours of waiting! 
Three ! Four ! Five ! Six o'clock, and for the first 
time in twenty years, save for my holidays, I was 
not in my place. Seven ! Eiglit ! Nine ! and still 
the hours dragged on, wearily, when I bethought 
me of the all-absorbing issue, but much too swiftly 
if that wooden wheel was untouched. 

Ten and eleven o'clock struck. Then came the 
longest hour of my life. Days aiul Aveeks seemed 
to pass, and all the actions of my life in slow pro- 
cession trooped before me. I longed for midnight, 
and yet dreaded to know Aviiat fate it held in store 
for me. 

Had he deserted me in my darkest hour ? Would 
he strive for me and for justice to an innocent 
man ? 

"Boom! " — ^came the first stroke from the great 
bell. With breathless lips I counted the strokes, 
at each one pressing a finger into the palm of my 



IN LONDON ToWim. 89 

hand so liard (hat the nail piei'ccd the skin. 
Four fingers luul tlius closed on the right hand, 
and over them the thumbs recording the lii'th 
stroke. Four more on the left hand, and slowh^ 
over them closed the thumb, like a band of steel. 
Eleven! The hands fiew ojien and I started for- 
ward, listening, trembling, praying. Twelve! I 
could feel the very vibrations of the bell beating 
against my temples as the iron tongue struck the 
side. Thirteen! Thank God! He had befriended 
me in my hour of need. I fell fainting to the 
floor, and from sheer exhaustion slept till daybreak. 

I believe that the judges would have reinstated 
me, could they have been allowed to use their own 
discretion, but powerful enemies were at work 
against me and the freshly-sawed slot in the strik- 
ing wheel of the clock was discovered, and I was 
again summoned for further trial. The guiirds 
swore that no person had access to me after ir.y 
arrest and thus left a doubt in their minds. This 
doubt caused them to modify the death sentence 
to solitary confinement in the lower dungeon of 
the tower. What a modification ! To bid farewell 
forever to wife and children; never to look again 
uix)n the fields and the grass, the trees and tlie 
birds and the beautiful sunshine; to live, like a 
rat, in a dark and dismal hole, until, like a r;it, I 
could see the dampness oozing out between the 
stones of my cell as well by night as by day. 

Better death than that; better to know that one 
swift stroke would end all earthly suffering and 
that revengeful enmity could never more assail me. 



90 LINES AND RHYMES. 

But prisoners had escaped from this very tower 
before and why not again ? I wonki wait and hope 
and strive; wait for the unfolding of the future's 
mysterious j^roblems, hope for those almost mi- 
raculous changes that sometimes shift the power 
of a sovereign in the twinkling of an eye; strive, 
if I could; but what is the strife of one close kept 
within a rock-bound cell ! So in my solitude I sat 
for hours, brooding upon my condition. Then 
came the desire to know my surroundings more 
intimately. How well I know each stone, each 
line and fissure! 

I could press my hands upon a bed of yielding 
clay and reproduce the walls of my cell so ac- 
curately that a mould of one would fit the other so 
closely a stream of water could not trickle through 
between them. Each stone I hate, save those I 
moved aside and broke against each other to use 
as implements of toil. 

My cell was nine feet high, five feet broad and 
ten feet deep. Two bars of iron inserted in the 
solid rock supported four boards six inches wide 
and two inches in thickness, which, with a coarse 
blanket and a sack of straw composed my bed. 
Along the outer edge of the jilanks was fastened 
another one, extending one and a half inches above 
the edge; a three-legged stool and a billet of wood 
to place beneath the sack of straw for a pillow, 
completed the equipment of the cell. 

Through an opening in the heavy door I could 
see damp walls and other heavy doors. Through 
this opening, at irregular intervals, was thrust a 



m LONDON TOWER. 91 

loaf of bread and a jug of "water, and at times a 
piece of meat Avould be left, ^vit]lout a word, upon 
the shelf at tlie opening. j\Iany a time have I 
raised the jug to dash it against the stones and 
with tlie ragged edge sever an artery, bnt eacli 
time tlie faint spark of hope has stayed my hand. 
During the first few days, thoughts of the injustice 
tliiit had been done to me and the strangeness of 
my surroundings gave food for reflection, and mo- 
tionless I sat ujjon my bed with my head buried 
in my hands, for hours, days perhaps, for I 
could no longer measure time. 

Then came the revulsion of feeling; the desire 
to be up and doing; the thirst for companionship. 
I would cry aloud, shriek, aye, even curse to drive 
away the madness that seemed to haunt the jilace, 
but all in vain; my own voice was not the one I 
longed to hear, and back would come tliat indefina- 
ble dread, tliat terrible something that told me I 
must save myself from despair or reason would 
desert me. 

Whoever brought my food must have been under 
the strictest orders, for only a hand or arm was 
visible to me when the food was left. 1 have 
grabbed for that arm again and again, but what 
was my strength with his who came to me! How 
I have shrieked to him as his footsteps died away 
down the passage : 

" Speak to me. In God's name speak to me, if 
you have a heart ! " 

Once only a mocking laugh came back to my 
ears, or seemed to, and for hours I imitated it, noAV 



92 LINES AND RHYMES. 

in one corner ;uid now in another, trying to imag- 
ine that my cell was filled with guests. 

At other times I have pleaded, with tears and 
plaintive wailings, for just a word. Twice — thrice 
I have let him come and find my food untouched 
upon the shelf. Life was sustained with a crumb 
here and there, where it could be taken unnoticed. 
I hoped they might think me dead and I should 
at least see the face and hear the voice of my race 
once more. Famishing I lay upon my planks and 
heard the rusty chains clanking without. I did 
not stir. Two men ap2:)eared, and stalking to my 
side with a lantern, one of them exclaimed : 

" Finished at last, I guess." 

The other came to my side, placed his hand 
against my face, raised my arm, let it fall and 
turned to go out, saying: 

" Making believe dead. He'll eat before to- 
morrow." 

With this he threw the dried bread loaf, striking 
my face. With a cry of pain, I sprang upon him. 
The lantern was dashed to pieces. I would have 
struggled with him for no other reason but to 
change the routine of my life. I did not hate 
him. I thanked him for the pain he had given 
me. It seemed to begin a new life, a life of action, 
but he wrested himself from me, the heavy door 
swung together, I heard the chains fall clanking 
through the staples and again I Avas alone, alone. 

Oh! you who wander forth into the blessed 
woodlands and say you have been alone; you who 
drift out from shore in an open boat, with your 



m LONDON TOWER. 93 

eyes fixed upon tlie skies above you and say you 
are alone, wliat can you know of such solitude as 
mine, where not even the gnawing of a rat breaks 
the unending silence. Hour after hour I toyed 
with the broken pieces of the lantern. Each one 
had its name; each to me was a living thing with 
a personality of its own. 

The little pin that held its door in place I would 
throw away and then search for it. Again and 
again I Avould throw it, hoping it would lodge in 
some crevice and bring a new sensation when I 
failed to find it in the accustomed places. 

Wearied with this, I would count the hairs of 
my beard, separating one from another and then 
begin over again, assuming that the count hr.d 
been incorrect. 

One day my food was thrust through the open- 
ing to me and in the meat a bone of peculiar 
shape, not unlike a laborer's pick, gave rise to 
thoughts which, for some strange reason, had never 
visited me before. I kept it, and sharpening it 
against the stones, began to dig away the wood on 
the edge of my bed. I struck something hard. 

Joy! The pinions were of iron. Here was a 
hope, here was an occupation, here were the tools 
to labor with. Oh! how I worked, and ere long 
held in my hands six spikes, four inches long. 
Day after day with these I picked and scraped and 
dug at the stone wall of my cell until at last I 
loosened a stone, then another and then another, 
and then came to the moist earth. Again and 
again I kissed that soil, calling it by endearing 



94 LINES AND RHYMES. 

names, as a mother would call a child that had 
been lost and restored. Using the fragments of 
stone to save my hands, I loosened the soil, filled 
the broken lantern and brought it b:ick into my 
cell, filling the corners, stowing it away under the 
bed and spreading it on the planks wiiere I slept. 
But my cell would not hold all the dirt I must 
move before 1 could hope to make an exit. I 
must have a place for it or all my labors would be 
in vain. Hoping against hope, I began to dig at 
the wall opposite tlie door. The spikes were al- 
most worn away befoie the opening was made, but 
my efforts were not unavailing, for beyond the 
wall there had been, ;it some distant time, four 
cells like my own. These had been thrown into 
one. The doors had been walled up with solid 
masonry and it remained, I suppose, only as a sup- 
port to the structure above. 

Into this walled enclosure I packed aw.'.y the 
earth as fast as I could loosen it and bring it back. 

I had proceeded but twenty or thirty feet when 
I found a treasure of inestimable value to me, a 
broken sword, rusty and crumbling at the end and 
edges, but still substantial enough to serve in place 
of the worn-oat spikes. 

The hilt had once been richly jeweled, but most 
of the gems were gone. The few remaining I re- 
moved with a piece of broken stone and, wrapping 
them in a fragment of my clothing, treasured care- 
fully in the fond hope that some day 1 should see 
the streets of London again. AVitli this new im- 
plement, my work proceeded more favorably, and 



IN LONDON TOWER. 95 

using my own length as a measure, I cstimatetl 
tliat I liad pushed along two hundred feet. 

I then began to incline my course upward, and 
ere numy days had passed I knew by the quantity 
of eartli in the cells that I must be nearing the 
surface. Onward and upward I crept, and yet no 
sounds to tell me tliat I was nearing my go;iL I 
had stowed away all that I could. I would now 
dig straight up and press the waste against the 
sides of my tunnel by placing my back against 
one side and crowding my feet hard against the 
other, dropi^ing handfuls of earth imder them from 
time to time. 

Then came the thought, " May I not be ujider 
the Thames! Will the swift influx of water flood 
my cell and bear to them the unwritten story of 
my struggles and my failure ! " 

I knew that I must be beyond the moat and be- 
yond the double wall, if I had come out on the 
side with the gates. It was my only hope, and 
that failing me, death would be welcome, so I 
pushed upward. 

How my lieart throbs as I recall that instant, 
when, pushing through the turf, I felt the air of 
heaven again blowing across my face! I had come 
out into the open space diagonally across from the 
tower gate. The sttirs were shining in the sky, 
and now and then a cloud swept over the moon 
as though to sliroud my escape and cover my 
flight. 

Grasping what was left of the broken sword, I 
climbed up to the level ground. Not a soul was 



96 LINES AND RHYMES. 

ill sight. Lame and weak as I was, some strange, 
new-fonnd power impelled me onward and I fled, 
not knowing, naught caring whither I was tend- 
ing. If I met any one I do not know it. My 
blood seemed on fire. I was free. Let tliem take 
me buck to-morrow if they would. I had tasted 
the air of freodom ag^iin and now I could die. 
On, on I went until, at last, nature, weak, worn 
and exhausted, left me panting at the door of an 
inn. I recall the keeper's burly form and red, 
good-natured face and then my senses must have 
left me for when I awoke I found myself in 
this bed. I have seen only the little girl 
who brought me materi.ds for writing and I 
have sent down the jewels from the sword hilt to 
compensate tlie inn-keeper for his care. I shall 
see him to-morrow and then I shall know if those 
who love me still live; if those for whom I have 
cared will now care for this broken reed that the 
storms of life have blasted. In the seventh house 
beyond the woodeii bridge at Heme Hill road I 
left my wife and children. Shall I see tliem again ! 
Shall I ever " 



Here the MS. breaks of?, incomplete, and in a 
scrawling hand, probalily tliat of the inn-keeper, 
are these words: 

" Writteu l)y :.n old and ragged m:iii, with long 
white hair and beard, who died in the kitclien 
chamber of the Blue Bird Inn. We liave, as duty 
calls, sent to the seventh house from the wooden 



IN LONDON TOWER. 97 

bridge, on Ilenie Hill read, but a bappy I'ajiiily 
lives therein who seek no aged, dying man and 
know not who he may hv. I j)l;!ce this packet in 
my strong box, where it shall lie nntil called for 
by him whom most it may concern. Signed, Ber- 
thold Willston." 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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